


the tightly closed lid

by fatalize



Category: Fruits Basket
Genre: Pre-Canon, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalize/pseuds/fatalize
Summary: Yuki thought that once he made it to Shigure's house he'd feel better, relieved maybe, but it's not that easy.Introspective pre-series drabble for Yuki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a self-indulgent, spur-of-the-moment, introspective pre-series Yuki fic. That being said, I was too lazy to look up what exactly the circumstances of Yuki moving to Shigure's house were besides "Haru begged to get you out of there," so I'm not even sure how old Yuki is supposed to be at this point, ahah. I don't think it matters, though, so I hope you like this anyway.

Yuki takes a sip of tea and for the first time in three days he feels warm. He wraps his fingers almost too tightly around the hot cup, greedily absorbing the warmth, wishing the heat could spread throughout his entire body and comfort him with its presence. But as he finishes it off the cup simply becomes lukewarm and almost-empty, edges tinged with faded stains. He stands, places it among the other empty and lost items scattered carelessly about the kitchen, and begins to walk away.

“Would you like any more tea?” Shigure asks casually, nonchalant as usual. He’s been sitting at the table quietly reading something—Yuki didn’t check what—and hadn’t spoken until now.

Yuki shakes his head and walks out of the room. He knows he should say, “No, thank you,” instead, to try not to give Shigure a cold shoulder, but his voice feels turned off, locked in a box in his throat. He’s not sure why, either. But Shigure isn’t the type to press and pry unless it’s necessary.

So Yuki turns the corner without looking back, enters his room, and falls down on his bed.

Except his bed is a mess, too, so he falls right on top of a textbook that hits his side, hard.

“Ow.”

He rolls over instead of moving it and his ribs fall on the softness of the mattress this time. It’s his bed now, Shigure told him, but he still feels like a guest, residing in another place he doesn’t belong.

He thought that moving out would do something—make him feel something, maybe, a sense of relief, joy, hopefulness. And he does find it a little easier to breathe now, so much so that he sighs more frequently than he used to, his lungs filling with deep inhales and exhales to make sure they work in spite of sadness.

It’s not that he’s not grateful. He’d rather be here than back there. Yuki’s steeled himself against ever going back to the Sohma estate, would rather die than return.

But the thing is: he’s still on Sohma land, living with a Sohma, and feels as though he only took his body with him, his heart left behind, abandoned somewhere in that small, pitch-black room.

Subconsciously, he moves his hand to his chest. It doesn’t feel empty, exactly, nor does it feel hollow, or even aching. He feels more like his body’s turned to wood—to stone—to something tough and impenetrable, something without feeling pressing down, and if he tried to feel if his heart was still there he wouldn’t be able to, for it’d be walled behind layers of a substance soundproof and solid.

He also feels like something’s missing.

Yuki pulls his knees up to his chest, knocking over a notebook in the process. He told Shigure he’d go to school tomorrow, and Shigure said it’d be wise to do so. For the routine, if nothing else. And Yuki knows if he goes he’ll smile politely like usual, and he’ll attend class like usual, and he’ll give the appropriate responses like usual. Going through the motions won’t be hard at all—he can already see himself doing it. In fact, he’s more than capable of doing it.

And soon he’ll start talking to Shigure more, and he’ll be able to say what he wants for dinner, or let him know when he’s going out to the store. He’ll be able to make his body move, make his voice respond, do everything he’s supposed to. But for now, that solidness—that jar, he thinks of it now, with a lid tightly keeping everything in—will remain in his chest, keeping him small, quiet, toned down.

_Knock, knock._

Yuki sits up, stone-heart pounding in surprise, to see Shigure in his doorway, arms stretched out resting idle against the door frames. The flowy fabric of his kimono takes up much of the space, and Shigure looks a little perplexed at the shocked expression on Yuki’s face. Yuki is embarrassed, but can’t help it—the muscle memory of Akito’s entrances into that room makes his body react before his mind can tell him: _you’re okay, that’s in the past, it’s only Shigure._

However Shigure makes no mention of it, and his face becomes careless and easy again when he says, “Just checking up. Making sure you’re still okay with going to school tomorrow and all that.”

“Yes,” Yuki says.

“Don’t push yourself now. If you need another day you’re more than welcome.”

“I’ll go,” Yuki insists.

Shigure doesn’t push further. “Alright.” He nods and leaves Yuki again; thankfully he keeps the door open.

Shigure’s house isn’t so bad. It’s better than the hollowness that seemed to permeate the Sohma house, and Yuki is forever grateful for being able to live here.

Yet a small thought nags in the back of his head: Is this it?

Not the Sohma estate, but a Sohma house. A house, but no family. Surrounded by a forest with no flowers.

Yuki casts his gaze over the mess in the room—his room—again.

Is this it?


End file.
